Incoherent Nonsense: Some Words What I Done

I’ve not written on the blog for a while, so I’m going to randomly hit some keys, see what comes out.
Luis Suarez, what a wanker character, eh? Biting people, blatantly handballing and racisming, claiming he wants to leave England because of the persecution of the media, but that he’s willing to play for Arsenal, who are based in London, which is where the English media live.
What a contrary position for a fellow to take!

Papiss Cisse has been doing some religious scholarship, and it’s his belief that Islam forbids the lending of money for the short term at extremely high rates, but that institutions that lend money for the long-term at rates that are merely very high are fine and dandy.
At least, I think that was the result of his studies – I haven’t read the actual thesis he put together, just the outraged reaction to it, which consistently held the tone of being close to outright racism and mockery of ‘the other’ while not quite tipping over into anything properly offensive.
Brief thought – religion and personal morality are different things. Religion is an amorphous and abstract concept, so saying your religion bans certain things is always open to ridicule. The book of Leviticus bans menstruation, for example*, which goes against the command to love God and love your neighbour, which is the greatest of the Ten Commandments, even though Moses forgot to write it on the tablets. Jesus said so.

* Yes, I know it doesn’t. It bans eating shellfish, and I think there’s something about women separating themselves from the rest of the tribe/village when it’s their time of the month, which is entirely sensible. Apparently there’s something in there about men not being allowed to sleep together unless they’re stoned, which you’d think the American religious fundamentalists would have picked up on by now.
I’m putting this bit here rather than at the end, which is generally the place to put an end-note**, because this isn’t the point I want to end this incoherent ramble on, and it’s my blog damn it, so I can disregard the rules of common sense if I want to.

It’s understandable that top footballers occasionally act like silly easy to mock people.***
Imagine, for instance, you pushed yourself through physical pain and exhaustion to improve your fitness and physical technique on a daily basis, trained your mind to make the correct split second decisions in the middle of matches, tolerated all the corporate nonsense of needing to promote your club’s sponsors, represent the club in a way that doesn’t offend the brothel-using, dog-mocking club owners, and after all that you were reliant on the ideas of Alan Pardew, a man who apparently tried to bridge the gap to his French-dominated squad by growing facial hair in a vaguely French style. Bless.
Joe Kinnear showing up would be the steel girder that crushed the camel’s spine.

*** Note to self, work on my insults. Maybe send a note to Will Self, he seems pretty good with insults. Would he read one of my notes? Probably not. Should probably try email instead.

Why don’t lower league footballers behave like such self-indulgent cretins? It probably has something to do with the intensity and emotional hot-housing of being so driven and focussed on such a competitive sport, where
Reading back, I seem to have drifted off mid-sentence here. Should I try and alter it into something grammatically correct? If I cared enough, I probably would.
When the type of people who are naturally intense and driven in that way spend a lot of time in the relative calm of the English lower leagues, they’d probably naturally either mellow out slightly, or the gap between their intense drive and the rewards would cause them to snap in the middle of a match, breaking their shinpad into a shiv and going on a killing spree. Which isn’t nearly as regular an occurrence as you might think.

Exeter City are going to play away to Fluminese in a pre-season friendly next summer, possibly to celebrate their centenary, but I’ve not read the actual article yet. It’s the kind of dream-like factoid that you’d assume you misheard or made up whenever you remember it.
The cost of flying their players out there will probably bankrupt the club, but there’s always the options of selling their players to drug-dealers for ransom – that kind of thing happens in Brazil apparently, I saw it on The Simpsons.

Patrick Stewart claims the CIA funded Star Trek TNG to distract people from the fact the government was cutting back on NASA’s funding. Was he joking? I think he was joking, but it sounds oddly plausible, for a conspiracy theory. The good folks at Stormfront think that Sir Patrick is an idiot, but they think that Jews control the world (or probably think that, for all I know) so they’re not the best arbiters of who’s stupid and who’s smart.

If Jews really did rule the world, surely they’d make someone else wear those little hats, rather than doing so themselves? If it rains, they won’t offer any protection at all.

The start of the football season is always an exciting time, when players move to a new club, and with some causing genuine excitement, the frisson of possibility when you have no idea how things will turn out.
All the infinite possibilities of something which is untapped are more powerful than one thing that does happen – it was in Doctor Who. There was a sun monster, and a leaf.

When I talk about new signings, I’m talking, of course, of Brentford United Soccer Club, who’ve signed Walsall’s Will Grigg and Swindon’s Alan McCormack. Some strong additions to a team that fell just short this year, plus they’ve got a German manager, so ruthless efficiency. Will things turn out right this time, or will they be destined to remain ‘the other team who play at Arsenal’s reserve ground’ which is how they’re best known locally and nationally?
To the future! It is where all of us shall live, in the future!

I started this with the intent of clearing out some of the ideas in my head, which were jamming together in the doorway preventing anything getting through, like all the diseases in Mr. Burns’ body.
I’ve written over 1200 words in just over half an hour, which is a decent bit of momentum, and should help me turn my Lower League Summer notes into something that makes some sort of sense.

Brain work good now?

If you’ve read all of that, I’m very sorry for wasting your time. I can only promise you that most of what I’ve written does make sense, in a sort of twisted, abstract, not quite using the right terminology kind of way. If you want to come back to the blog later, what I write then will be more sensible, and I’ll leave out a tray of biscuits. It’d probably be best if we don’t look each other in the eye.